


Bowling and crumpets

by Kayama



Category: Angel: the Series, Death in Paradise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:18:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1370269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayama/pseuds/Kayama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you just need someone who understands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bowling and crumpets

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read, all mistakes are mine. Mea culpa.

All... /All/ Richard Poole wanted, on this nice Sunday evening where there was an actual blood cool breeze flitting over the island? Was to sit on his veranda, sip a nice cup of tea and eat some of the crumpets his Mum had send over in her latest care- annex British Survival Package. 

But is that what he got? No. Of course not. 

Instead he finds himself in St. Marie's only bowling alley where there had been reports of a scuffle and they needed the police to take care of those ruffians. Of course Dwayne and Fidel were both up in the jungle traipsing around for whatever had happened there. 

Poole suspected it had something to do with pirates. It always had something to do with those bloody pirates. 

Camille was... would be on her way over, but she had been on the other way of the island with her Mum. And whilst it was a small island? It would still take her the better part of two hours, so he told her not the bother. He could handle this. 

Really. Sometimes his team acted as if he was completely inept. 

“What's going on here!” He demands to know. Some people are fleeing outside, nearly bowling him over in their haste. He pushes forward and sees a man, about his age, facing off two other men. He quickly assess the situation before marching up to the lot....

...And promptly falling on his arse when his feet slip on the bowling lane. He goes down in a ungraceful heap, cracking his elbow on the hard wood and uttering a few very British curses. 

When he climbs to his feet, the two men are gone, there's suddenly a lot of dust whirling around the third man who slips something into the pocket of his jacket. Suit jacket. 

Suit. Aha! Finally someone else who wears a suit in this blasted heat! See? He's not insane, no matter what Camille tells him. 

“Are you quite alright?” The man asks, a worried look on his face and, Richard noticed with a happy rejoicing, a distinct British accent. “You took quite a fall there.” 

Richard makes a face as he shrugs. His arse hurts and his elbow hurts, but he'll be damned if he'll admit that. “Just my pride, nothing new. Mr....?”

The man looks strangely understanding. “Pryce. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Please call me Wesley. I think they fled out through the backdoor.” 

Green eyes flick to the backdoor. Well, no use running in this heat now, they'll be long gone. Richard is curious as to where his layer of thick dust suddenly comes from. He looks up to see if perhaps the ceiling is crumbling, but that seems to be in order. 

“I'm terribly sorry this has happened on your umm... bowling outing,” he offers. There. Placating Tourist, Patterson will be pleased. Though, why anyone would want to go bowling in this heat is mystery to him. 

“Bowling? I? Perhaps if my wife were with me, but she's back at the hotel. Had a headache. It's far too bloody hot to do much of anything here. I was looking for a descent cup of tea on this island when I heard the commotion inside.” 

Of course Wesley's not going to tell this man that it were two vampire who were looking to prey on some innocent tourists. Heaves no, just a robbery gone wrong and... failed. His feet shuffle a little in the dust left by the vampire he staked when no one was looking. 

“It is rather difficult,” Richard muses thoughtfully, oh so carefully moving off the bowling lane. Without falling this time. He celebrates the fact that someone else finds this climate simply too. Bloody. HOT. 

“The... crime rate here?” Wesley ventures a guess, uncertain about the vague remark. 

“What?” Poole looks at him puzzled. “No, no! Tea! I meant finding a descent cup of tea. It's neigh impossible here. Thank god I have some at home.” 

Pryce gets a look in his eyes, Richard has seen many times. Whilst looking in the mirror. “You uh, need to fill out a report and a statement,” he offers as they head for the exit of the place. “We do come by my place on our way to the station. I have the papers there. Would you like some... tea? Perhaps? While you fill out the forms? We wouldn't have to go all the way to the station.”

Wesley looks like a man who just crossed the sahara and has been offered his own pool of fresh water... or tea. “If it doesn't take me far away from the Hotel? Just in case my wife needs me,” he asks hopefully. Tea! They had to come over here so suddenly they hadn't packed their usual herbs for tea. He'd been having withdrawal symptoms. 

“Oh no, it's only a tick way,” Richard assures Wesley as he climbs into the jeep. “And,” he lowers his voice as if he is revealing St. Marie's biggest secrets. “I even have home made crumpets.” 

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce never got into a car that fast.


End file.
